


GERALT'S A SOFT BOI send tweet

by relenafanel



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Banter, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Internet Famous, M/M, Snark, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher), YouTuber Jaskier, dumb boys in love, geralt is bad at feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:28:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22537033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relenafanel/pseuds/relenafanel
Summary: “Hey, so this is where you ended up,” Jaskier said, sliding into the chair across from Geralt in the sad truck-stop diner 50 kilometres outside of the backwater swamp-dump reporting an infestation of drowners. Jaskier had found the posting on the Witcher forum he shouldn’t know about, but did, in part because he ‘managed’ Geralt’s media presence (unpaid, and un-asked-for) and in part because he was a nosy bitch.Tracking Geralt down at any point in time was an art form of anticipating what his current driving force might be: money, empathy, or rage.Also, sometimes, a nap.AKA a modern-au where Jaskier is famous on the internet, Geralt is still a Witcher, they hunt monsters and are bad at emotions (sometimes at the same time)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 326
Kudos: 1016





	1. Geralt is an ASSHOLE send tweet

**Author's Note:**

> General warnings for: 
> 
> violence, probably not as bad as in canon  
> lack of research on the Witcher world - I watched the show. I sometimes read the wiki. I mostly DIDN'T read the wiki.  
> Geralt turns Jaskier down in the first chapter, hence the Temp Unrequited Love tag. This story is about him getting there.  
> Jaskier is That Bitch. also canon.

“Hey, so this is where you ended up,” Jaskier said, sliding into the chair across from Geralt in the sad truck-stop diner 50 kilometres outside of the backwater swamp-dump reporting an infestation of drowners. Jaskier had found the posting on the Witcher forum he shouldn’t know about, but did, in part because he ‘managed’ Geralt’s media presence (unpaid, and un-asked-for) and in part because he was a nosy bitch. 

Tracking Geralt down at any point in time was an art form of anticipating what his current driving force might be: money, empathy, or rage. 

Also, sometimes, a nap. 

Geralt grunted into his mug of coffee in acknowledgment at Jaskier randomly showing up, which was practically a hello.

“I thought you might have ghosted me,” Jaskier continued, “don’t you ever check your phone?”

“Broke it,” Geralt answered, taking another long drink of his coffee the way he was in the habit of doing the morning after a heavy fight and a healing sleep. Geralt’s coffee habits said a lot about him, the same way Jaskier’s did. Mostly that both of them were prone to all-nighters. 

“And your email?” 

Geralt shrugged and Jaskier wondered what chances he had of reaching across the table and strangling the man without getting his forearms (and pride) bruised. Not checking his email? There were public access points everywhere. _Everywhere._

Go to a library, you fucker! 

“I’ve been trying to reach you,” he continued, because honestly this whole thing was fruitless. He just had to accept that his best friend was a total asshole who was awful at communication in all mediums. If Geralt ever tried to get a regular job he’d have to lie his sweet ass off for the ‘are you an effective communicator’ part. “I was starting to get concerned. There weren’t any sighting posts in your hashtag. Nothing. Your thirst club was silent. Not even Yennefer had heard from you.”

“You spoke to Yen?”

“It was uncomfortable for both of us,” Jaskier said, opening the text message chain on his phone and handing it to Geralt. “Get caught up, will you?”

Geralt frowned at the phone in his hand, scrolling up and up and up. Jaskier knew exactly what Geralt would see, he’d scrolled through the messages a million times himself to see if there was anything he missed. 

**Jaskier:** *screenshot of IG post of Geralt dirty, sweaty, and covered in a drying viscous with a comment reading: I should find this disgusting but instead I want to pop a million cranberry pills and get on that dick.*

 **Jaskier:** How you still pull when looking like you got shit out by the latest monster of the week I’ll never know. 

**Jaskier:** I’m writing a song about it. I’m calling it Get the Dick. The chorus goes ‘UTIs can be treated, that’s what doctors are fooor, but for Geralt of Rivia in tight leather there is no cuuuuure. So ask to see his sword, chug some cranberry juice, and when you’re done go back for mooooore. Get the dick get the dick get the dick get the dick get the dick **_get the dirty dirty dick._**

**Jaskier:** thoughts?

 **Jaskier:** ok it’s been a week, that would usually have dignified at least a NO. You ok buddy?

 **Jaskier:** are you ghosting me?

 **Jaskier:** do you ever check your email? There are some fantastic jobs lined up in there. That pay real money. 

**Jaskier:** are you dead?

 **Jaskier:** if you are dead I hope your spirit literally comes back to haunt me so I don’t go through all the effort of tracking you down for nothing. 

**Jaskier:** I hate you so much sometimes. 

“Riveting,” Geralt said in a complete deadpan. 

“You think so,” Jaskier asked, preening. Personally he’d only written the song to troll Geralt and to get attention but he wasn’t beyond putting it online if Geralt thought it was good. “Oh, you weren’t talking about the song,” he said at Geralt’s expression. 

“We’re never talking about the song again.”

“Fair. Fair.” Jaskier nodded, knowing he’d probably sing the song while drunk out of his mind at a party at least once and Geralt would have to deal with someone saying ‘get the dirty dirty dick’ to his face within the year. Jaskier was aware he could also be a shit friend. It was why they worked, or so he told himself. “But about those jobs. There’s a contract in Novigrad offering coin.”

“A coin?” Geralt frowned. 

“No, _coin_. Plural. Like so many coins you’ll be rolling in it. It’s a common saying, how do you not… seriously, you’re fucking with me right now?”

Geralt looked slightly amused, which was in Jaskier’s top 5 favourite Geralt expressions. “How much coin?”

“Half a million crowns.”

“Crowns?” Geralt echoed, interested. 

“Yeah. We’re checking it out, right?”

_“We’re?”_

Jaskier ignored that, pulling Geralt’s broken phone out of his pocket. If Geralt thought he could out-stubborn Jaskier, Jaskier had almost 10 years of friendship to prove him wrong.

“Where’d you get that?” Geralt asked, watching as he pried out the SIM card. 

“I found the abandoned shack you crawled into to die,” Jaskier said, finally retrieving the card. He pulled out one of his old phones he kept specifically for this purpose, and popped the SIM into it, finishing with 3 phones on the table in front of him like the lamest shell game ever. “Did you think I wouldn’t start from your last known location? That was weeks ago. I’m honestly angry with you about this. So take this present to make it up to me and next time maybe text me your location before walking into trouble.”

Geralt looked uncomfortable and vaguely guilty. Maybe uncomfortable because he felt guilty. He wasn’t the best at emotions. “I’m not used to someone caring.”

Jaskier noticed that wasn’t a promise for anything and could feel the exhaustion of it deep into his bones. “Thin excuse. We’ve known each other for a decade now. You know I worry - justifiably, don’t give me that look like you think I’m a nag, I saw your death shack. I SMELLED your death shack - and I get that you’re not always going to be able to communicate, especially the way you go through cell phones, but, like, you could have reached out once you stumbled away from death.”

Geralt grumbled something. Jaskier was interpreting it as conceding. 

He was taking it as a win either way. “Finish your coffee, let’s go make coin.”

Geralt, who was halfway through downing the last of his mug, gave Jaskier a look that said he was stubbornly considering never finishing the coffee just to spite him. Jaskier took a picture of it with his phone. It might not be one of his usual glorious butt shots that had made everyone in the country look at Geralt’s ass when his back was turned, but it was the first picture of Geralt that Jaskier would be posting on his Instagram in almost 4 months. Geralt looked annoyed, cantankerous, exasperated, and amused, the lighting through the dingy window was highlighting his dumb cheekbones, and he was far too beautiful for anyone to handle this early in the morning.

 _Found this dumb asshole. Going adventuring with the bestie. #brolife #adventureswithmywitcher #geraltofrivia #itoldyouhewasntdead,_ Jaskier typed in the comment section and then posted.

 _It makes me angry that he’s the most beautiful man in the world and so completely unavailable,_ the first comment said.

And yeah, same.

x.x.x.

Jaskier could probably deal with having a crush on his best friend, and by crush he meant painfully in forever-love with him forever, but it didn’t help that Geralt was somehow the sexiest fucker in the world. He had a lot of sympathy for the UTI commenter because Jaskier knew all the gross things covering Geralt’s skin on a regular basis, as well as how often he was able to bathe while on the hunt (which was rarely), and he still _would._

He would _so much._

And Jaskier was regularly there when Geralt started peeling off the leather, which should be sexy but was actually horrifying. It might lend protection against teeth and blade, but it did not wick away moisture, nor did it stop all kinds of fluids from dripping down the neck. Geralt had a habit of wearing it and sleeping in it until he felt like danger had passed, and Jaskier honestly wasn’t sure how it wasn’t chafing after all that. Geralt peeled off his jacket and small animals within a kilometer radius smelled the predator in him and ran in fear. 

Jaskier had to battle down a boner at the sight of all that sweaty muscle. “For fucksakes, you smell like a sewer trench,” he said, grabbing a box of wet wipes from his backpack and tossing them to Geralt.

“Thanks,” Geralt said, catching the box easily and derailing Jaskier’s rant. 

Gratitude, weird. Geralt probably also smelled himself and didn’t want to admit it. 

“Here,” he said, gently taking Jaskier’s arm after wiping himself down in efficient movements. 

They were still a day’s walk away from the car and neither of them were severely injured, but it would be just Jaskier’s luck if the scrape on his elbow got infected. Geralt had done all the difficult work in finding the nest of monsters, and once determining that they weren’t harmless, dispatching of them. Jaskier’s contribution had been managing to hit one with a stick so it stumbled closer to Geralt, and then fall backwards on his ass.

Geralt’s hands were just as efficient cleaning out Jaskier’s cut, but his fingers were warm and steady on his skin, and physical touch was such a rarity that Jaskier felt lightheaded and bold at the sensation. Fuck, he wished he knew if Geralt ever had the slightest inkling towards sex with men - or maybe it was better that he didn’t know, because otherwise he might consider this his window to lean in for a taste.

“Do you ever consider fucking men?” Jaskier asked. Out loud. With his voice. Like a fool. 

Fuck.

Geralt’s expression went pinched around the eyes and he jerked Jaskier’s arm at an uncomfortable angle while pouring disinfectant over the cut.

“Ow,” Jaskier said, mildly inconvenienced by his arm and majorly inconvenienced by his own stupidity. “It was a comment on the Instagram post where you were facing off against the werewolf clan leader.”

Jaskier left out the part where it was _left by_ the werewolf clan leader.

If anything, the expression on Geralt’s face turned even more sour. “No,” he finally said.

“Never?” Jaskier said in response. “I find that hard to imagine. Men are just so,” and then he gestured to Geralt’s everything. 

Geralt paused and looked at him, fingers tight on his arm. Not tight enough to leave bruises, but enough for Jaskier to know that he was so uncomfortable with this conversation that he wasn’t considering his strength. “So?”

“I don’t know, strong sometimes, like you think about them holding you against a wall and fucking you levels of strong. Or you see them and think about what their dick looks like and how it would feel in your mouth. Attaction is the same with anyone, it’s like they smell nice or say something smart or funny or dumb, and you think ‘yep this one’.”

Geralt took a bandage out of the first aid kit and began wrapping it around Jaskier’s arm, movements jerky.

Jaskier began to worry. “You knew I’m pan, right? This isn’t a surprise for you?”

“You have a song about your disaster pansexual energy on your YouTube channel.”

What! “ _You’ve been on my YouTube channel_?”

“You talk about being a famous YouTuber all the time.”

“I do.” He never considered that Geralt might be curious enough to check it out, though. A quarter of his music was about Geralt and his adventures and hot ass. “Oh. I see what this conversation is. You’ve been waiting for me to ask so you could let me down gently, only I never asked.”

“You just did.”

This asshole. “I didn’t, speaking abstractly isn’t the same. Let’s get this over with, then. Geralt, want to fuck?”

“No.”

“Ever think about spreading me out on a bed and sliding into me?”

“No.”

“Holding me up against a wall?” 

“No.”

“What I’d look like on my knees?”

“No.”

“Admittedly, this is a little one-sided. I should know better than to make assumptions on what you like based on how you look. Ever think of what you’d look like on your knees.”

“No!”

“Or on the bed with your thighs spread and your…”

“Would you shut up!” Geralt finally said. “No.”

He looked embarrassed and miserable, and Jaskier laughed. Knowing definitively wasn’t the worst thing in the world. It answered the questionmark on the end of a lot of unspoken sentences. “Alright, I was just making sure this conversation was uncomfortable for both of us.” Geralt’s discomfort was giving him life. Sure, maybe the attraction wasn’t going anywhere, but Jaskier hadn’t lasted in Geralt’s company for over a decade without knowing that on some level Geralt cared. So in the spirit of friendship, Geralt looking like he might squirm was hilarious. “I’m not going to stop thinking you’re gorgeous.”

If anything, that made the flush on Geralt’s neck more pronounced.

“But I won’t bring it up again,” Jaskier promised.

x.x.x.

That was a blatant lie. Now that the secret was out, Jaskier had no reason to hide his big gay crush. It was freeing.

x.x.x.

 **Jaskier:** where r u?

 **Geralt:** To your left.

 **Jaskier:** There are a million people here. Be more specific.

 **Geralt:** You just looked right at me.

 **Geralt:** There are only 18,674 individuals in this park.

 **Geralt:** 18,675 if you include the noonwraith.

 **Jaskier:** NO ONE IS COUNTING THE NOONWRAITH.

 **Jaskier:** jfc a noonwraith at Cervolki Music Festival

 **Jaskier:** Be less specific about generalities and more specific about where you are.

 **Jaskier:** FOUND THE WROMG THIMH I WAS LOOKING FOR HELP

 **Jaskier:** NOONWRAAITH

 **Jaskier:** Have I told you recently how hot you look when saving me? This one’s going on the IG.

 **Jaskier:** Ok, I didn’t expect you to read that text until after saving me.

 **Jaskier:** Maybe pay less attention to glowering and more to sticking your sword places.

 **Geralt:** I can do both.


	2. Playing hide the meat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of cannibalism in this chapter - not any of the main characters.

“I swear these goddamn bugs love the taste of my flesh,” Jaskier whined into the front facing camera on his phone. There was nothing but woods behind him and the incessant buzzing of bugs in his ear, and he was slowly going _mad_. “It’s day 3 of hunting this damn wyvern nest and I’m being eaten alive like the tasty morsel I am. Why do they never bite you?” he turned to Geralt, also turning the camera so his audience could see. “Is Witcher blood gross tasting to mosquitoes?”

“Maybe because I _wear clothes_ ,” Geralt answered.

“It’s a million degrees out,” Jaskier continued to whine. He’d be worried about his tone if most of his followers didn’t already know he could be the literal worst. “It’s too hot for all that leather. Yes,” he continued into the camera. “Even in the middle of nowhere with only me and woodland creatures for company, Geralt still looks like the sexiest leather daddy you’ve ever seen.”

“It’s for protection!”

“I think it’s overkill if the protection is against bug bites.”

Geralt made an annoyed sound.

Jaskier slapped at his thigh again.

“You could at least be wearing pants,” Geralt pointed out with his judgiest eyebrows.

“These count as pants,” Jaskier said, panning down to show off the shorts he was wearing to the camera.

“They have sequins on them,” Geralt said, and Jaskier turned the camera back towards him. “We’ll find the wyvern because they’re attracted to your ass. Like plumage.”

“It’s hot,” Jaskier said. “Literally 37 degrees with humidity. This was all I had on me from--” Jaskier had packed them mostly to get laid at the folk festival after-party and then forgot to unpack them --”nevermind. Besides, they’re not that short!”

Geralt looked straight at Jaskier’s camera with a sarcastic, long-suffering expression and rolled his eyes.

It was the funniest shit Jaskier had ever seen.

x.x.x.

**Comment:** He wants to fuck you so badly and you don’t even notice

No, Jaskier would notice thankyouverymuch. 

**Comment:** I think it’s Jaskier who is the thirsty bitch in this case.

Accurate.

 **Comment:** Garalt could unzip his fly and raw me without getting undressed or finishing me off and I’d still thank him for it.

Gross. Also, probably a spank-bank image that was going to stick.

 **Comment:** U realize ur wearing twink shorts and calling him a leather daddy don’t u?

NO and he wasn’t going to think about it again.

x.x.x

The one rule about cohabiting a hotel room with Geralt of Rivia was that he had dibs on the shower first. It was a fair rule, even if it meant that sometimes Jaskier got into the shower and stepped on something slimy Geralt had missed during clean-up. The less time Geralt, covered in rancid blood and all kinds of gross things, spent in an enclosed room they were about to sleep in, the better. 

“Oh thank fuck,” Jaskier breathed, coming face to face with Geralt in a towel not meant for his thick everything. Steam escaped the room despite the fan being on because Geralt liked his showers so hot a mortal man wouldn’t be able to stand it. It made for an experience being so close to the door he could feel the radiating heat, like he was being blasted by the literal sensation of HOT.

Then he made the mistake of looking down.

“I’m not checking you out,” he promised fervently, their conversation still fresh on his mind despite it being over a month before. This was the first time they’d done the shared hotel room getting-into-the-bathroom dance. “Ok, I am a little, but this hotel clearly skimped on their towel order.”

“Jaskier.”

Jaskier’s attention focused on Geralt’s abs. Did they just do that or was Geralt flexing a little? “Are you dehydrated?”

Geralt looked back into the shower and then looked at Jaskier pointedly.

“Because it turns out every time an actor in a movie looks like you do right now it’s because they’ve dehydrated for days to prepare for the scene, and I just want to make sure you’re remembering to drink water.”

“Hmm,” Geralt huffed in bemusement before turning towards his bag. “I’ll go find something for us to eat.”

“Sounds good. I’m going to shower and probably jerk off,” he said and then instantly regretted it. Why did he have absolutely no filter? “Uh. Because it’s been a week in the woods, not because,” he gestured towards Geralt. “Can you please shut me up?”

“If I knew how to manage that I’d be a hero to many,” Geralt said in a dry tone. He was facing the bed, pulling a pair of pants out of his overnight bag. Then he dropped the towel.

Jaskier yelped the yelp of a man who wasn’t expecting that much naked butt in his peripheral vision, and high-tailed it into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. It was probably his imagination, but he was sure Geralt laughed. Jaskier was glad Geralt found something funny about Jaskier’s inconvenienced attraction because Jaskier wasn’t thinking it all that amusing.

It took him moments to ease out of his clothes. They were dirty, the knees stiff from dried mud. It wasn’t so bad that he’d have to throw them out like the time he was coated in entrails and then couldn’t change for two days, but it wasn’t great either. 

He set the shower warm, just how he liked it, and went through the routine of washing quickly. He hadn’t been lying about masturbating away some of the stress - he just didn’t usually admit it out loud. He was marginally sure that Geralt got in the habit of finding food while Jaskier was in the shower for a reason. 

Jaskier usually waited until he heard the room door close behind Geralt, but it had been a while and Geralt never lingered. After their frank conversation in the woods, he didn’t think Geralt would want to accidentally witness any part of this. It wasn’t so much that he rolled the dice on Geralt having already left when he stroked his hand down his skin, it was that if Geralt hadn’t left yet, that was on him.

If he was doing this at home, he’d take his time warming up - a prelude to the main event, if you will. He wasn’t sure you could really call it foreplay with yourself, but why the fuck not? He was the king of foreplaying himself. He’d have a bottle of lube handy, and maybe his favourite toy if he was craving that particular sensation of being stretched open on cock. But in the shower, it was all firm grasps of his hand on his dick, a prelude to nothing except getting off quickly, and the mental picture of some of his favourite memories: the Countess de Stael spread on his bed, her husband’s mouth on his cock; the after-party for the award ceremony he lost at that got a little wild and naked; the go-to porn on his PornHub account.

Geralt’s ass.

Fuck.

He did his best not to think of Geralt while jerking off in a shared hotel room. Not because he was worried about calling out his name, but because it seemed skeevy. He’d been doing his best not to think of it at all, especially since Geralt told him no. Maybe that was the problem. He was usually much better at directing his thoughts away from where they wanted to stray.

He hid a bitten-off groan under the water spray, caused in part by frustration. He managed to ruthlessly push those thoughts out of his mind for approximately two strokes before he mentally flashed to Geralt dropping that towel, half-leaning over the bed, except this time Jaskier stepped up behind him, spreading his hands gently over—-

NOPEEEEEEE.

But the image stuck long enough that he inhaled sharply, breath hitching towards the end. He closed his eyes. 

The door closed. Not with a resounding bang like it was slammed, but telling enough all the same.

Shit. 

x.x.x.

Jaskier was just pulling out his sleep pants when Geralt walked in, and he had to do the awkward _jiggle under the towel to get dressed_ thing. Geralt narrowed his eyes and went “hm” in judgment which could mean any number of things but likely meant Jaskier was a coward for not just dropping it on the floor like Geralt did.

“Food,” Geralt announced, putting the bag on the rickety table in the corner. 

“I’m probably going to sleep for forever,” Jaskier told him, yawning. “I swear that was a magical forest. Every time it seemed to end it just started up again.”

“So you’ve said.”

“I’m fucking starving,” he continued, breathing deeply over the bags of food. He could smell something meaty, which was normal for a Witcher-foraged-take-out, and something spicy, which was not.

“So you’ve said,” Geralt repeated meaningfully, like he was telling an audience how many times Jaskier had complained in the last week. There wasn’t a camera on him, so his audience was 100% himself.

And Jaskier.

“I’m not sure I deserve that tone,” Jaskier pointed out, digging into the bag. “I only say what both of us think. I know you don’t like those energy bars either.”

“They taste like cow patties.”

“They look like cow patties, too. The ingredient list says cocoa but I suspect it’s one large conspiracy.” He finally got a good look at the food Geralt brought him and was surprised to find a good Oxenfurt fry-up, the spicy batter so thick his eyes were almost watering smelling it. Geralt could handle eating both spices and fried foods better than anyone could, but always made a face like a finicky child if asked to. 

Jaskier had seen the Witcher hunt, catch, and eat an entire deer. There was also the time they spent 2 days eating weird tree lichens Geralt insisted were edible while tracking a murderer through the Blue Mountains who turned out to be human. Jaskier had spent 2 weeks shitting in decreasingly painful ways. Geralt had been fine.

That was the reason for the energy bars. Jaskier wasn’t going through that again.

“Oh my fuck,” Jaskier said, breathing in the scent of his meal. “Do you know what would make this perfect?”

“I assume you’re going to tell me.”

“Bubble tea!”

“Did you ever actually leave university?” Geralt asked, his tone said he was done with Jaskier’s shit, but his actions of handing Jaskier a drink tray with exactly what he asked for said something else.

Jaskier beamed at him. Then considered. “What are you buttering me up for?”

Geralt looked at him, his cheeks full of food. Geralt never tried for an innocent or indignant expression when Jaskier called him out about things, but this one said ‘what shit are you smoking?’

Jaskier, who had smoked some premium stuff in his university days, knew better. “My favourite food. My favourite drink. You’re spoiling me for some reason.”

Geralt stopped chewing. The food bulged in his mouth. They looked at each other across the table. 

Geralt continued eating, clearly not dignifying that with a response. Jaskier took it as the dismissal it was. He didn’t always allow Geralt to change the subject like that, especially when Geralt didn’t so much change the subject or even ask Jaskier to drop a topic as he did ignore-with-prejudice. Whatever Geralt’s reason for picking Jaskier’s favourite foods would come out eventually.

“Not bad,” he said. “Not as good as they make it in Oxenfurt but not bad.”

“Neither of these originate in Oxenfurt,” Geralt pointed out. 

“So?”

“Isn’t it disingenuous to hold up Oxenfurt’s cuisine as the benchmark?”

Jaskier gaped at him. “Oh, first of all,” he said, pointing a finger at him. “You’re right and should absolutely call me on it, but shit! - second, that sounded very smart and I’m into it.”

Geralt shrugged like he didn’t think it was particularly clever of him, and took another big bite of his meal.

And he was right. Just because he didn’t _often_ say thoughts like that out loud didn’t mean he didn’t have them, just as it didn’t mean Jaskier wasn’t fully fucking aware that Geralt was way smarter than he let on to most people. The first time they met Geralt had talked his way out of a situation with an _elven prince._

Like. Fuck. The biggest causality dilemma in Jaskier’s life was which came first - his competency kink or meeting Geralt. “Grant me the nostalgia taste buds. Like, nothing tastes as good as it did at 17, trying it for the first time after growing up with the same kinds of food on repeat. The first experience of freedom, the joy of learning, etcetera etcetera. Don’t you have a memory of freedom after Kaer Morhen?”

“Surviving Kaer Morhen,” Geralt answered. 

“Yeah, and what did you do with the money from your first successful hunt?”

“Resupplied my stocks.”

“And the first time you had extra?”

“Saved up for Roach.”

Jaskier sighed. “Are you trying to tell me you’ve never treated yourself to anything frivolous?”

Geralt hmmmed at him. “Never.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Jaskier reminded him. “Are you telling me your jacket needs all those buckles for strategic reasons?”

“Yes,” Geralt answered in a grunt, but there was a soft upturn to the corner of his mouth that said he was joking.

“That won’t do. If you learn one thing from me, I hope it’s to indulge sometimes.”

“If anything you’re a cautionary tale against overindulgence.”

“GASP!” Jaskier said out loud, bringing his hand up to his chest like he’d been dealt a mortal wound. “And yet, Geralt of Rivia, nomadic ascetic, we’re sitting here indulging in fried food that costs significantly more than going to the store for a loaf of bread and, if feeling luxurious, sandwich filling.”

Geralt’s expression turned sour, likely at the fact Jaskier had managed to bring the conversation back to his original point.

“It’s alright,” he found himself saying. “I buy you stuff sometimes too, you know. Just because I think you’d like it.”

It was true on his end, but he didn’t realize until he said the words out loud that it was true on Geralt’s. Geralt didn’t react, but Jaskier still felt the sudden tension.

Jaskier stared at him. “Geralt?”

“Finish your food,” Geralt said, looking like he was gearing up to say something scathing but instead took a drink of his bubble tea.

And looked adorable: Angry eyebrows and hollowed cheeks as he sucked up pink frothy liquid.

Jaskier could coo.

They were both saved from saying something they’d probably regret by Geralt’s phone ringing. “Geralt of Rivia,” Geralt said as a greeting, which was significantly better than grunting his equivalent of ‘what’ into it like he did every time Jaskier devolved into trying to call him. The only people who called Geralt were people looking to hire him, and from the sound of the call that was exactly what was happening. Depending on the urgency of the contract, Geralt might leave within the next half an hour and Jaskier would have to decide if he needed sleep or his next adventure more.

Jaskier was tired, the kind of bone-weary exhaustion that came from trying to keep up with Geralt through the woods. At the same time he was wired from one of the few signs besides bodily throwing himself between Jaskier and a monster that Geralt had shown that they were friends since the fateful discussion. 

That was the danger of Geralt. He did something kind, something normal people did all the time, and Jaskier found himself wanting to look deeper at it. Jaskier had gone through a phase a few years before coming to terms with the idea that the absence of violence didn’t mean the presence of romance. So Geralt didn’t pummel him when he was annoying? So Geralt permitted liberties with his person? His time? His own safety?

So what?

That wasn’t the same as affection or kindness. The absence of violence was far below the bar of human (or mutant) decency. 

But then Geralt looked at Jaskier and made eye contact when someone was being overly stupidly as though to hold an entire conversation without words. He waited to leave on quests when Jaskier told him he was on his way, and put himself between Jaskier and danger always. He saved Jaskier’s lute and his phone - the necessities of his trade - without being asked when Jaskier wasn’t able to ensure their safety himself.

He bought Jaskier food he liked. Just because.

He was a sarcastic asshole, sub-verbal sometimes, and pretended nothing mattered to him.

And Jaskier loved him with his whole heart.

As though to illustrate the thought, Geralt rolled his eyes at whatever the person on the phone was saying. ‘Missing wife’ he mouthed.

‘Rich?’ Jaskier asked. 

Geralt gave a single nod. “I can be there tomorrow afternoon,” he said into the phone. “Ten thousand crowns, half up-front. An extra five if it turns out to be something from the extremely dangerous list on the Witcher’s website.”

Likely, it would turn out that the wife ran away with her yoga instructor and the jilted husband would demand a refund, as though he was the wronged party and not the alarmist who called in a Witcher for domestic reasons. Geralt ended up taking at least three person-ran-away cases a year. It kept his nice leather jackets in buckles, at least. If it wasn’t for the eye roll, Jaskier might think Geralt was a romantic with the way he treated each case as though it was a supernatural baddie right up to the point he got proof it wasn’t.

He learned, eventually, that Geralt was of the assume-the-worst-and-don’t-get-caught-with-your-pants-down mentality of preparedness. He’d rather it be silly humans leaving each other for a variety of reasons while he was hunting for a monster than for it to be a monster while he assumed it was humans.

Of course, Jaskier had seen Geralt unprepared with his pants quite literally down, so…

Everyone had to shit in the bush at some point.

“Playing private investigator again?” Jaskier asked, finishing off his drink and reaching for Geralt’s. Geralt didn’t swat at him, which in Geralt-language was the same as nudging it over.

“Hm,” Geralt agreed, hanging up his phone with a jab of his finger. 

x.x.x.

“Wife is missing,” Jaskier said from his phone, scrolling through a local newspaper. He and Geralt had slept the odd hours of 9:00 pm to 4:00 am and had been on the road so early that they’d watched the sunrise while going 140 km/h. Jaskier hadn’t had the chance to scope out their next ‘case’ on his laptop, which was far more conducive to multitasking than his phone was. He always got a bit of a thrill when it might be humans, because despite treating it like a hunt, Geralt didn’t worry as much about Jaskier’s safety. 

It was almost like they were partners instead of Witcher + dumbass sidekick.

Investigatory partners. It had a nice ring to it.

Geralt’s grunted to say ‘I acknowledge you just said something but it was information we already knew.’

“Maid is too,” Jaskier said a few minutes later in a speculative tone. “About 3 weeks ago. Runaway lovers or something with a taste for women? Only time and our intrepid detective Geralt of Rivia will tell.”

Geralt gave him a sideways glance as Jaskier jotted that line down for the video summary he’d do later.

“Have you ever thought about opening a business? _Geralt of Rivia, Witcher Detective_. Lend some legitimacy to your consulting business that isn’t the equivalent of heading to Craigslist to hire a stranger that might be legit and get the job done or might bilk you?”

 _Jaskier, Bardic Detective and partner in Detecting Services. Esquire._ Or something.

“I’m not a detective,” Geralt pointed out in annoyance, derailing Jaskier’s fantasies. Again.

“Don’t act like that’s the worst thing you’ve ever been called,” Jaskier pointed out with absolutely no filter to soften the words. “Yep. You don’t even have to react. I heard it.”

Instead of reacting, or maybe as a way of reacting, Geralt pulled over into one of those gas station + fast food places that were a dime a dozen on the road except for when you really needed one. 

“I’ll grab sandwiches while you fill the tank?” Jaskier asked, opening the car door.

“Grab a table,” Geralt told him instead. “We’re early. I need you to find out if anyone else is missing.”

Yassss. Research time! AKA stalking people on social media time! Jaskier’s forte. Also another layer of armour for his boo when he walked into a situation. He hadn’t been sure Geralt appreciated his efforts - in fact, he knew Geralt hated it when Jaskier learned about their monster of the week from the misinformation on the internet - but if they were stopping specifically so Jaskier could research it was a sign to the positive.

Reading Geralt was easy. Most times.

By the time they’d eaten and left, Jaskier had found that the town had a nest of Bruja less than 50 years ago, a missing child a decade ago, and an export of clay. There was nothing particularly outstanding about the man who hired them, either. 

“Seems normal,” Jaskier contemplated as he got back into the car. He frowned across the roof at Geralt before ducking in. “So either something just arrived to town, or…”

Geralt grunted in agreement. He looked at Jaskier thoughtfully, before starting the engine. “You’re good at this.”

“Pfft,” Jaskier said, though he silently agreed and it was damn time Geralt acknowledged him. “This is nothing compared to tracking you down. This case is going to be a cakewalk. _Runaway lovers_ ,” he crooned, his fingers itching for his lute to strum a base melody. “ _Lesbians on the highway out of town. I guess we don’t know if they’re lesbians, they could be bi._ ”

“They could be friends.”

“ _They could be **friends**?!_” Jaskier sang, and looked at Geralt incredulously. “How archaic of you. Did you think those two old hedge witches we came across in the woods were also only friends?”

“They were married,” Geralt pointed out. “Don’t dismiss friendship as a bond.”

Jaskier almost opened his mouth to tell Geralt not to dismiss lesbians as a bond, but then realized what point Geralt was making with surprising adroitness. “Yeah,” he said, feeling a bit choked up. “Your friendship is the most important bond in my life.”

Geralt looked startled and deeply uncomfortable at the conversation turning emotional, so maybe he hadn’t been making a point after all. 

x.x.x.

“Fuck,” Jaskier said, staring up at the manor and feeling a chill go down his spine. There was nothing particularly telling about the facade, except for the foreboding feeling. “He killed his wife and the maid, and plans to cover it up by killing you.”

“Hm,” Geralt agreed, reaching to open his car door. He didn’t sound convinced.

Their employer met them at the bottom of the steps, appearing so quickly that Jaskier couldn’t be sure he hadn’t heard his pronouncement. Yikes. Would he ever stop putting his foot in his mouth?

Probably not. Wasn’t his vibe.

“So glad you’re here,” the jilted husband was saying, reaching for Geralt’s hand. “Let me show you the house. I have a room prepared. Won’t you join me for supper? Then you can get started, I think there may be something down by the lake?”

Geralt grunted in agreement. “This is Jaskier.”

“ _The Jaskier_? Surely, not. My wife listened to your music when she exercised in the morning.”

Jaskier levered a pointed look at Geralt over the past tense. Geralt tilted his chin in acknowledgement, and then raised his eyebrows to ask how Jaskier planned to prove it.

Jaskier grimaced in a way that he wanted to communicate ‘I don’t know, sounds like the job you were hired for’ but probably came off more like he’d stubbed his toe on the stair.

x.x.x.

**Geralt:** don’t eat the meat

 **Jaskier:** what’s wrong with the meat?

 **Jaskier:** Geralt, what’s wrong with the meat?

 **Geralt:** questionable origins

 **Jaskier:** QUESTIONABLE ORIGINS?? Questionable like the time you bought the Beyond Meat burger and thought someone was trying to poison you? 

**Jaskier:** ISN’T IT BEEF

 **Jaskier:** TELL ME IT’S BEEF

 **Geralt:** it’s beef

 **Jaskier:** I don’t believe you

 **Jaskier:** IS IT PEOPLE ARE PEOPLE THE QUESTION?

 **Geralt:** just don’t eat the meat.

 **Jaskier:** I told you he killed them I TOLD YOU

 **Geralt:** can you wait to say I told you so to after?

 **Jaskier:** why is he glaring at me for texting. You’re texting too!

 **Jaskier:** i’m going to get murdered in my face because you won’t stop texting me

 **Jaskier:** I hope I taste delicious when I’m made into supper

 **Geralt:** If anything you’re a snack

 **Jaskier:** !!!!!!!!!

 **Jaskier:** OH MY GOD.

 **Jaskier:** High five me asshole

 **Geralt:** ?

**Twitter:**

Geralt just called me a snacc

*cute selfie*

**Twitter:**

also might get murdered. 

*share location*

**Author's Note:**

> Find me:
> 
> [Tumblr](https://relenafanel.tumblr.com)  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/relenafanel)


End file.
